


the sword lily

by astrogyaru



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Arthritic Cecil, Autistic Carlos, Cecil is Human, Dorks in Love, Gun Violence, Late Night Conversations, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mental Illness, Post-Episode: e049 Old Oak Doors Part B, Post-Live Show: Condos, Romance, Self-Reflection, Sloppy Makeouts, The Moonlite All-Nite Diner, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, Walks In The Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrogyaru/pseuds/astrogyaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil and Carlos take a late night walk. (In which lilies have more meaning than they ought to, Carlos is still working on adjusting to this strange town, and Cecil starts to see how much excitement he was missing out on before his scientist came along.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. danger

Cecil starts to wonder if simply eating with each other has started to not count as a date. Their fourth 'date' is on a Friday, and they met up after work to grab a quick dinner at Jerry’s Tacos. They took their food to-go (not that they had a choice) and ate while sitting on the floor of Carlos’ studio apartment above the lab. The food was decent, only glowing a little bit. Carlos talks and talks and after a while, after they've finished their mediocre tacos, he pauses and asks Cecil how he's been. Cecil lets out a jumbled monologue about his day, and in an uncharacteristic display of inarticulacy, it made no sense.

"I just feel… sad." Cecil says after a long pause. "Tired." He flicks a rolled up paper wrapper and watches it bounce on the floor.

"Are you…" Carlos starts carefully, tearing and picking at a napkin to keep his hands busy. "Is this related to mental illness or is this unusual?"

Cecil bites his lip, thinking. He leans back, looking up. “Sort of. I mean probably.” He sighs. "I'm just tired sometimes."

He turns to look at him.

"Y'know?"

"Huh." Carlos says.

Cecil stands, their exchange seemingly over, and moves to settle onto Carlos’ bed, flopping face-first onto the pillows before rolling over to pull out his hair tie. His long black hair falls onto his face and over his shoulders and he sinks into bed beneath him.

Cecil stays quiet and the air goes stiff, so Carlos cleans up and then sits next to him on the bed. Cecil buries his face into a pillow, his mood bearing down on him like a heavy fog. Slowly, Carlos settles against him on the bed and strokes his hair gently, pushing it out of his face and thinking up ideas on how to make him feel better. They had cuddled before, sleepily on the couch, but now they were so close. It was... different, and neither knew the other's heart was beating as fast as their own.

"Do you want to go on a walk?" Carlos blurts, holding his breath.

The question floats in the air, Cecil lets it linger, eyes squeezed shut against Carlos’ chest. Neither of them shift, and they could be sleeping . Both men lie tangled in dark grey sheets. It is 7:32 PM, not an ideal time for walking, and Cecil was still pretty tired, but still, it sounded— well it sounded nice.

"Sure."

Getting ready to venture out into Night Vale comes with it’s own special sort of ritual that Carlos isn’t, and may never be, quite used to. A bulletproof vest typically worn under his shirt, a gas mask kept in an easy spot in his car. Those he could do, but a gun kept in a holster at his waist made him uneasy. He had aimed it in fear before, but never fired. He didn’t know if he could, and didn’t think he would have to when Cecil typically kept an old rifle on his person.

Cecil has a pair of worn, plum-colored cowboy boots with a turquoise trim that he wears more often than he should. Carlos wears laced up sneakers, with leather on the tongue and a plaid lining. Cecil throws on an old leather jacket and thin gloves, and Carlos has his lab coat over a flannel shirt. 

Carlos opens the door with a smile, and they head out.

The sun had never really risen that day. The sky turned from dark blue and void to an earthy overcast, and now, this late in the day, the sky bleeds purple and the clouds glow pink. The night swallows up the colors in the east and they start walking north, no direction in mind, nothing conscious behind the decision.

Carlos takes Cecil’s hand and his face heats up like a kettle. His hand is big and square, and warm and soft. Cecil’s fingers twist in his grasp until they settle intertwined.

The air is good on his lungs and he breathes it deep. Unusually cold, but good and refreshing.

At the end of the block Carlos stops to look either way. “Where should we go?” He asks, turning to Cecil.

He shrugs in response.

Carlos twists his mouth while he thinks and Cecil wants to kiss him. He thinks that maybe it’s not time yet for surprise kisses. The most their lips have ever done is linger between each other before pressing softly together again. Very chaste, and sweet, and always with hesitation from both parties, an awkward pause, fear of too much too soon.

In the distance, they hear gunfire. Carlos looks at Cecil, brows tense with worry, and they head in the opposite direction.

There is a rhythm to walking that Cecil finds in his head. The sound of shoes hitting cracked pavement, the swinging of arms, his long hair bouncing with the movement. He soaks in it, and the cool air in his nose turns off his thoughts.

"This is helping, I think," Cecil says with a smile.

"Really? That’s good." Carlos says. "Fresh air and exercise are always good. Well usually. It often helps me."

"Oh?" Cecil asks, tiling his head. "What does it help you with?"

"Oh, you know." Carlos says, kicking a small rock down the street. "Those sad-for-no-reason days."

"Uh huh…" Cecil drifts off. He’s curious, but doesn’t want to be rude. He is always very careful with his words.

The street they walk down is mostly barren as they head further from town. There are a few abandoned, sagging houses that Carlos eyes with interest. It wasn’t until they past one with a faint blue glow inside that he stopped in his tracks.

"Cecil, what is that?" His voice is quiet, curious.

Cecil peers at the house, leaning to the side to see if he could look through the cracked windows. “I don’t know.” He says with unease.

Carlos starts to inch towards the house, looking back at Cecil, who tenses and looks at him as if to say, ‘I don't know about this.’ The door is half broken off it’s hinges and opens easily.

"Careful, Carlos," Cecil says in a low voice, sliding his rifle off his shoulder and readying it behind him.

The house groans under their feet. Bedroom doors are boarded shut, and the living room is filled with blown-in sand. Cecil surveys the space, looking down his scope. On the other side of the room he hears Carlos pull on some latex gloves, and the snap of the material makes his head turn. 

"Cecil, look at this!"

Cecil shoulders his weapon again and comes up behind him. Carlos is in the kitchen picking at a blue mass on the floor. Its glow lights up his face in a way that is eerie, yet beautiful. His eyes are bright as he picks at the creature, excitingly scraping off a small sample.

"It’s some sort of bug… I think."

"Is it dead?" Cecil asks, kneeling down beside him.

"I think so. If it was alive that would be incredible! I mean, I’m sort of mutilating it right now."

Cecil watches curiously as Carlos worked. A short distance away he hears a faint… hissing, maybe. Some sort of sound that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looks for a source, but the glow of the large bug in his eyes and the darkness of the house leaves him squinting uselessly. One of the walls of the kitchen is dilapidated, leaving a large hole leading outside, but from where they sit he can’t see anything unusual.

"Sorry, Cecil, I’m almost done." Carlos says softly next to him, after a moment.

"No, no! It’s okay, I’m just— do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Carlos asks as he peels off his gloves and tucks a baggie holding the sample into his coat pocket.

It’s when the words leave his mouth that Cecil figures what it is. Through the door and skittering into the living room is a giant scorpion, chirping and hissing. Before Carlos can react, Cecil shoots it down, the gun shot loud in his ears and heart. He stumbles as he gets up, tripping over the glowing bug. He doesn’t fall, but staggers as Cecil drags him through the opening in the wall. Outside there is more, some of them bigger, all of them chirping and hissing as they approach.

Carlos fumbles for his pistol, watching as Cecil aims carefully and takes another down with a few shots.

"Carlos, I need to reload, okay? Can you cover me?" Cecil asks.

"W-what?" Carlos chokes out. Cecil sees him frozen in fear and stops, moving instead to grab him by the arm.

"We can outrun them, come on."

Carlos nods and they start to run together, arms clinging to the other. Their feet are heavy on the road and Carlos keeps looking behind them to see if they’re safe yet. At the end of the block the scorpions are already disinterested, so they slow and catch their breath.

"Are you okay?" Cecil asks, looking over Carlos.

"Yeah, I’m fine." Carlos huffs out, bent over and hands on his knees. "Don’t worry about me! I’m fine."

"I’ll worry about you for forever, probably," Cecil says softly, and Carlos smiles up at him.

They walk leisurely now. Cecil reloads his rifle carefully while Carlos chatters about blue bio luminescence and how amazing it is that scorpions can get so big in Night Vale. Cecil listens intently, smiling at his excitement and enthusiasm.

There’s a lull in their steps where they slow and get quiet for just too long.

Carlos looks at Cecil as if to say something, but then stops. Cecil raises his thick eyebrows, and Carlos cracks a smile. Cecil has such an animated face, so charismatic and shameless, almost, in how he expressed himself so openly. Carlos lingers on these thoughts for a moment.

"Carlos?" Cecil asks, his words breaking the air like thin ice. Carlos shivers.

"Sorry, um," he laughs softly. "I just wanted to say, I guess, um…" Carlos rubs at the back of his neck, eyes cast down.

Cecil gives a small sigh and waits patiently. He can tell when Carlos is working through his feelings, about to say something more serious than the usual scientific trivia.

"I— I’m sorry, Cecil." Carlos says softly, and his words catch Cecil by surprise.

"Huh?" He says with a cock of his head, eyebrows tenting in concern. A chill wind blows past them, too chill, he thinks in the back of his mind, but brushes away that thought quickly.

"You asked me to cover you, and I couldn’t."

"Carlos, it’s oka—"

"This isn’t the first time I’ve— I feel bad when you have to protect me. It’s just that…"

Carlos pauses and shakes with cold, and watching him Cecil feels his skin break into goosebumps.

"I don’t like killing things." Carlos continues. "Actually, I’m sort of working on an invention right now so i won’t have to!" He smiles excitedly but trails off. "Wow it’s really cold, is’t it?"

Cecil nods. “Yeah.” The word comes out hot and floats visibly in the air.

"Huh, weird, I thought we’d have a few more hours before it got this cold." Carlos says as he starts to walk again. "Anyway, about my invention—"

"Carlos." Cecil says sharply, quietly. "Somethings up." He looks carefully up and down the street, breath floating in the air like smoke. They’re the only ones out in the open for maybe a few blocks, inhabited houses nearby are dark with drawn curtains.

Cecil looks back to Carlos. He’s shorter than him by a few inches, softer around the edges. His skin is smooth and scar-less, at least from what Cecil can see, and he has a small gun at his waist that he couldn’t shoot. Carlos looks back up at him, his expression not unlike a wet kitten.

"Cecil? Is everything alright?" He asks softly.

Cecil takes a deep breath and takes Carlos by the arm. “Be on your toes,” he says softly, and nothing more.

Randomly scheduled government mandated releasing of shadow creatures and kin, known commonly as Shadow Recess, were tricky things to plan around and dangerous things to be caught in.

Cecil holds Carlos tight, but not too tight, and walks fast, but not too fast. No need to make him scared or panicked, no need at all, Cecil thought as his heart pounded in his head. Cecil keeps him close, both out of a need for warmth and to protect him.

Suddenly Carlos speaks up. “Cecil, please tell me, what’s going on?” His voice is very quiet and soft, but steady. Cecil sighs and his grip loosens slightly.

"Oh Carlos, I should have known. What with the cold— it’s always the cold that’s the giveaway. I wanted to stay quiet so you wouldn’t be scared… but—"

Carlos turns his head to look at him with worry.

"Okay," Cecil crumples. He is not usually a good liar, at least not to the people he likes, and especially not to boys with dark brown eyes, almost black, but shining gold in the light.

"We’re kind of out in a bad time."

"A bad time?"

"Yeah, uh, there’s kind of the risk of our souls being devoured by mysterious shadow beings currently roaming freely in the town. You know, Shadow Recess."

"Shadow Recess." Carlos repeats, a little snarky. "Is it like when all the little shadows are let out to play?"

"Exactly." Cecil says deeply. "So let’s keep moving, maybe find some shelter."

"Alright." Carlos says with a smirk, and Cecil can see in the way that he carries himself that he isn’t as scared as he should be.

Down the street, past broken pavement, is a small village of abandoned buildings. Ghostly inns and convenience stores settle on old wood, creaking in the wind. They head into a boarded up gas station, and behind them the sun dips down below the far off horizon, making a show of orange and red as it finally emerges from the plum sky, just to slink away again. The light scatters across desert brush and cracked sand, but dark blots bleed into the distance in wispy, aimless motions.

When they’re inside, Cecil checks all the corners and crannies with an aimed rifle, out of habit, while Carlos wanders through old collapsed aisles.

The shelves are mostly bare, save for empty, torn boxes likely eaten by rats, or maybe not. Carlos couldn’t tell with a passing glance.

He finds an old beaded chain hanging from the ceiling and tugs on it without a second thought.

Instantly, the room is flooded with light, artificial and cool, and with the light comes a harsh shriek, followed by a black mass flying through the air before diving out of a window, shattering it.

Cecil whips his head towards Carlos, whose hands are frozen how they were when he pulled the switch.

"Sorry." He hisses, standing tense and shaking.

Cecil looks around cautiously, slowly, then shrugs. “Well, glad it’s out of here.”

They move an old wooden board to block the broken window, settling afterwards in the back behind the register. They find a brightly colored (though dusty with sand), woven blanket to sit on, backs to the wall, ready to face anything that might come in.

Cecil is shivering where he sits next to Carlos, knees pulled up to his chest. They ache, but he ignores it, instead focusing the fine threads under his feet. Reds, purples, gold and cream.

Next to him, Carlos looks intently all around the store. The light is still on and he hypothesizes that they are safe with it there, but not being certain, anxiety flares up and his heart acts like it wants to crawl out his throat the longer he sits still. He looks at Cecil, who’s eyes are cast down, arms wrapped around his legs. Goosebumps rise on his skin and Carlos wonders how well he can handle the cold. Carlos is not from the desert, no, somewhere much colder. Usually it’s him sweating too much in the heat while Cecil is at ease, but now the tables have turned. Very gently, he puts his arm around him, and pulls him closer.

Cecil gasps softly, as if waking from a dream, before settling against Carlos. He focuses, hand ready to grab his weapon, but warmer now too, with a comfortable hand at his shoulder.

The building slowly settles with warmth, or maybe it’s just them sitting so close. Cecil takes off his worn gloves, sighing as the fabric pulls off his skin, and tucks them in his jacket’s pocket.

"Cecil, your hand…" Carlos says, noticing a swollen, red cut at the fleshy base of Cecil’s left thumb.

Cecil starts and covers it up hurriedly, though in vain. “Oh that?” He gives a fake chuckle. “Well… someone’s gotta bleed to open the station doors, and I was working all night yesterday, y’know, going in and out, and none of the interns were there.”

Carlos frowns. “Cecil, why would you work overtime alone in a dangerous place like that?”

"It’s not dangerous!" Cecil says. Carlos raises his eyebrows in suspicion.

He sighs. “Okay, it’s a little dangerous. But what in this unforgiving, terrifying world is not dangerous? Besides, it’s my job.” Cecil looks at Carlos, who’s wearing a face of worry. “I like working there.” He adds.

"Is that really how you see the world?" Carlos asks, and Cecil doesn’t answer.

They sit in sharp silence for several minutes. Outside, a coyote howls. In the distance, something roars. Slowly, they relax.

"It’s probably over," Cecil says gently. "But we should stay in here a bit, just in case."

"Okay." Carlos says quietly, pausing a moment before speaking again. "I’m sorry I almost got us killed." 

Cecil glances at him, sees him looking down and away. “Well, almost dying is an everyday part of life, isn’t it?”

Carlos looks up at him with furrowed brows, confused, but slowly his features relax, as if he had come to a conclusion about the things Cecil said in this gas station. He leans his head against Cecil’s shoulder, and inside of him, Cecil’s heart does something weird, like it had been startled.

A few minutes later, in the distance, they hear music floating on the air. A twangy, Spanish ballad playing from someone’s car. They peek outside, and the streets are alive again.

"It _is_ over.” Carlos says confidently, and Cecil nods.

"Over for now, but the cold will still last. Always does." He says with a sigh.

Carlos takes his arm and they start walking again.

There is something very interesting and exciting about the way that words spill from Carlos’ mouth when he’s with Cecil. Sentences and sentences about science, some not about science, and through it all Cecil never looks bored or exasperated. Maybe tired, sometimes, and Carlos has to force himself to stop. Otherwise their conversations are very good, very successful, Carlos decides. Talking to Cecil makes his heart feel like it’s smiling. Scientifically impossible, but true.

In the cold the streets start to clear and they end up alone, walking into Mission Grove park.

"Cecil, before—" Carlos starts, and promptly trips over a root on their path, falling to the pavement. Cecil rushes to him in worry, but instead finds Carlos laughing.

Cecil laughs with him, and he thinks their shared sound to be rather easy on the ears.

After Carlos has righted himself, and after Cecil’s done laughing at him (there's something about the night that makes it difficult to stop giggling when you start), they continue on, holding hands as they walk, Carlos forgetting what he was going to say.

The park is empty, and the air falls on them in a heavy blanket of paranoia and dread. They come up on a garden of flowers, wild and unusual, grown in flower beds and boxes. In the distance, a bird croaks, making a shrill, unholy sound.

Cecil lets out a long sigh. “Oh Carlos, this is so… romantic.”

Carlos grins, a blush rising from the base of his neck to his ears. He inspects the garden, and with careful hands he picks a flower, cutting the stem near its base and leaving it long.

The flower is mostly white, partially black at the center. Six petals, long and sharp, of alternating lengths. He offers it to Cecil, shyly, his eyes cast to the ground.

Cecil puts his hands up between him and the flower. “Carlos that’s— you can’t pick that!!”

Carlos looks up, surprised but not alarmed. “What? It’s not poisonous or anything.” He laughs. “It’s a sword lily.”

"Carlos!" Cecil says harshly. "The flowers are not for us to pick. They are not ours, they are no one’s, no one can have them." He lets out a huff. "We learn this when we're little. Like in second grade, Carlos."

Carlos shrugs. “Well, this one belongs to you.” he says, and slowly, with a peculiar look, Cecil takes it from him.

Cecil moves his lips to say ‘it doesn't,’ but his voice doesn't give life to the words. He stares at the lily in his hand.

"Come on, Cecil. Why wouldn’t people be able to pick the flowers? This garden is pretty wild and unkempt from the looks of it. Whoever owned it doesn't seem to be around anymore."

"That’s how it is." Cecil whispers, and Carlos twists his mouth in confusion. "No one is ever, ever supposed to pick any flowers in the park, that’s just—"

"Cecil, honestly? That sounds like a really silly rule." Carlos says bluntly.

Cecil makes to speak again, but instead stops and smells the flower in his hand, smiling at the sweet scent. He sees that he is fine after all, and lets out a long breath.

"It’s a sword lily?" Cecil asks, and they start walking again.

"Yes." Carlos replies. "I don’t know much about flowers in a scientific sense—I am _not_ a botanist— but I do know a thing or two about meanings and such."

"Oh?" Cecil says with a raised eyebrow. "What does this one mean?" He twirls it in his fingers and watches the dark center as it moves.

He pauses to think. "Remembrance." Carlos says, sticking up his index finger. "Infatuation, strength of character, and faithfulness." Each point is counted by another finger.

Cecil grins. “Infatuation?”

Carlos laughs and looks away, then lifts up Cecil’s hand and kisses it.

"I wouldn't say that, at least about you." Carlos says quietly. "I'd like to think my attraction to you is more earnest than that." He smiles.

Cecil's face turns hot, and he smiles sweetly back at him.

They walk further into the woods. The more they walk, the more Cecil notices his knees getting bad, but he doesn’t say anything. Eventually he trips and stumbles, wincing when Carlos helps him up.

"Are you okay?" Carlos asks, brows drawn, worry in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah," Cecil says breathlessly. "Uh, let's... Let’s sit down."

They find a bench nearby, made of metal and wood. They sit and Cecil places his lily next to him, turning toward Carlos.

"Sorry I- I need a break, I think. We’ve been walking all night."

Carlos nods, brushing stray hairs out of Cecil’s face. “That’s okay.”

Cecil notices Carlos' eyes flick to his lips, and he shivers.

"I think I’d like to just... sit here and kiss you for a bit." Carlos says, his thumb catching on Cecil's cheek.

"Okay." Cecil breathes.

"I’ve been thinking," he says with a hitched breath. "About your lips, your mouth."

"Oh." Cecil says and it was supposed to be a question. He’s barely gasped a response when Carlos goes on.

"I’ve been thinking a lot about your voice, the pitch, the wavelength, the bass, and um, just a lot of things about it."

Cecil opens his mouth like he could say something but nothing comes out.

"I mean, I’ve been thinking about it scientifically, you know. It’s really amazing how a sound can have such an effect on me, I mean—"

"What kind of effect?" Cecil asks, curiously, and he catches Carlos’ eye before he looks away again.

"It’s really nice. I just like it, and um, it makes me nervous sort of, I guess? I’d really like to— I mean, with your permission, of course— I’d like to maybe look at you… your throat… your vocal cords… your lips..." He trips on his words and this time he keeps Cecil’s gaze, who swims in those eyes like dark rich coffee.

Carlos starts to lean forward, and the space between them is suddenly so infinite and Cecil thinks that the world would end if that gap were to ever close.

"I want to put my tongue in your mouth."

Awkward, yes, but not to ears of a man hearing his own world collapse around him. Their lips meet in a way that is hungry and yet sweet and soft and Cecil gasps and sobs kissing that perfect mouth. Carlos is licking his teeth and Cecil’s body sings with desperate passion. He clutches at his coat and tries to keep his nose from hitting Carlos’ glasses but there’s something about this kiss that doesn’t call for technique or tact and they’re both gasping messes sitting on a cold park bench, met at the mouth in an hungry embrace.

He’s thought about kissing Carlos like this for so long and it burns knowing that Carlos had wished the same. Cecil is shaking, now, or he has been shaking this whole time. Carlos has a hand wound in his hair that loosens as they kiss longer, slower. Cecil floats in disbelief, his body not quite his own. He cups Carlos’ cheek, stroking at the smooth skin there and he thinks that Carlos definitely noticed this time.

At some point later they simply exist in the space between them, breathing heavily, sharing gentle kisses, eyes closed, bodies numb. Cecil is still shaking from the cold, and Carlos notices now, perhaps before Cecil did himself. He asks sweetly if he’s okay and makes vain attempts to warm him up. Cecil’s lungs close when Carlos rubs his hands up and down his arms because there is something very intimate to him about a failed attempt to fight off the cold.

He suddenly comes down to himself, to this world, and in a shock of reality he’s met with sudden pain. He is shaking from nerves and chilly air and heated kisses, but mostly from swollen joints.

"Let’s get inside somewhere, okay?" Carlos says and before he stands up Cecil knows that he can’t. In the cold he feels himself less, but his knees still swell in pain. He puts an inch of weight on his left leg and winces. Carlos rushes to pull him up carefully, but his legs are too stiff and heavy with pain, so he only clings to him, unable to stand himself.

"This is so embarrassing." Cecil whispers with a trembling voice.

"It’s okay." Carlos says gently. "I can carry you." In his next movement Carlos lifts him off the ground. Cecil giggles in surprise, still shaking from the pain and the cold, but he settles against him bridal-style.

Carlos bends down to let Cecil take his lily, then carries him out of the park.

Not very far from where they exit the woods is the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, a nice place to warm up, to talk and rest their legs.


	2. 4AM coffee

Carlos’ first step into the diner is met with a rush of cool air that hits him from the feet up and flushes up to their heads, but it’s a nice difference from the cold outside. A single waitress is working behind the counter, and when the door shuts behind them she turns to see Carlos, small and squishy and nerdy, standing there with Cecil in his arms. They grin at her.

Carlos sets Cecil down carefully in a booth and sits down opposite him. The waitress greets them with a pot of coffee, and this close her name tag can be read. Juanita.

"Can I get you boys anything?" She says dully, turning over white cups on saucers and filling them with black liquid.

"Uh…" Carlos says, looking to Cecil.

"Juanita," Cecil starts, rich and cheery. "I’d like some cream for our coffee, and to eat…" He glances down at the menu. "Carlos? Have you had the cherry pie here?"

He shakes his head. Juanita shifts on her feet and sighs through her nose.

"It is. Amazing. Carlos you  _have_  to try it.”

"Okay," Carlos says with a small laugh. He turns to the waitress. "We’ll have some cherry pie."

"How much do you want?" Juanita asks. "And Cecil, don’t say ‘massive quantities’ like you did last time."

Cecil holds up two fingers. “Two. Two slices is fine” he says, and she leaves them with their cups of caffeine.

"Massive quantities?" Carlos asks with a raise of his brow.

Cecil gasps dramatically. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Twin Peaks.”

"Not the entirety of it." Carlos says, ripping open a sugar packet. "I remember thinking that it was weird, but that the FBI agent was cute."

Cecil laughs, stirring sugar into his own coffee. “It wasn’t weird! It’s like, my favorite show. I’m going to make you watch the rest of it sometime.”

“Okay,” Carlos says with a laugh. “Oh, um, how are you? Your knees, specifically.” He asks, mouthing a small ‘thank you’ to Juanita when they get their cream.

"They’re better, I think. Now that we’re sitting inside and not running around out in the cold," Cecil says, wincing as he feels his knees. He lets out a long sigh. " _Lyme disease_ , am I right?”

Carlos shrugs, but not in a dismissive way, rather, in a sort of way that conveys the message,  _I’ve never had Lyme disease, but I feel you._  Cecil imagines that if Carlos had chosen to use words, it would have come out a bit more technical than that. He nods slightly in response and decides to start on his coffee.

Cecil, being an avid coffee drinker, firmly believes that the way one takes their coffee shows a lot about their character. He watches as Carlos pours in cream until his drink is milky and white and stirs in two sugar packets.

He adds a splash of cream in his own and stirs it in with the sugar. He takes a drink and feels the heat go down his throat, sighing as the cold bleeds out of him. His knees still hurt very much, but not as much as before, and he is glad that Carlos took them here. He smiles as he watches him take a sip of his coffee before adding more sugar.

Cecil supposes that it means that he is really sweet, or maybe he just really doesn’t actually like the way coffee tastes, it could go either way.

The Moonlite All-Nite Diner is very much just a normal diner, if you don’t count the hooded figures sitting at the counter, and if you consider “normal” to be very relative. The booths are striped sea-foam and lavender, and there is something very dreamy about all of it from Cecil’s perspective.

Carlos, sitting across from him, adjusting his coffee with sugar and cream and more coffee, down-cast eyes showing thick eyelashes. It seems like a very long time before they get their pie, a very long time that Carlos spends stirring his drink. Maybe Cecil is just tired.

He feels something very odd in his chest and can only think of how he’s got it really, really bad for this boy sitting across him right now.

"Here you are." A voice and the clatter of plates breaks him out of his reverie.

They each get a plate of ordinary cherry pie (to Carlos’ relief). The crust is glittery with sugar and the filling has fallen out the side, but it looks and smells good. Cecil watches as Carlos takes a bite, raising his eyebrows at him while he chews.

"It’s good," he says through a mouthful of pie.

Cecil takes a bite of his own, then has a drink of coffee. The pie is familiar to him like deja vu, or a lucid dream, and he puts his fork down, frowning.

"You okay?" Carlos asks softly.

"Yeah it’s just… you ever get that feeling of being right on the tip of remembering something? But then you lose it and you don’t know how to trigger it again?"

Carlos tilts his head. “I think I may have. Cecil, do you experience memory loss often?”

"Carlos, I think I can remember just as much as the next guy." Cecil laughs dryly. "Like, it’s not realistic to remember _everything_." He takes a drink of his coffee and notices that his hand is shaking.

Carlos makes a noise of agreement as he continues to eat. On the other side of the diner, a light bulb flickers and goes out.

"Although," Cecil starts, setting his cup down carefully. "Trying to remember something, and like, what you just said, for some reason reminded me of something, that reminded me of something."

Carlos gives a small laugh. “What did it remind you of?”

"When I went to a sleepover with my sister."

Carlos looks up at him. “You went to sleepovers with your sister?”

"Yeah, well, she’s only one year older than me. And it was like, boys and girls and others all staying over. I think I was sixteen when this happened?" Cecil pauses to think. "I was super gay when I was sixteen."

"You’re still super gay." Carlos mutters and Cecil laughs into his coffee.

"Anyway, we were going to go to this girl’s birthday party, and instead of bringing gifts I think it was a potluck? Or maybe we brought food _and_ gifts?"

He stops to take a bite of pie.

"I don’t remember," he says, swallowing. "Anyway, this girl lived in a sorta fancy place so my sister and I brought these sorta fancy chocolates, y’know? They were really expensive by poor kid standards."

"You were a poor kid?" Carlos asks with concern.

Cecil shrugs. “Yeah, well, after we lost mom we just had our grandparents, then they died, and… Well, all we really had was the community, and it could only give so much.”

Carlos nods slowly. “I guess I never had a whole lot of money problems growing up, except when it came to… higher education.” The last words come out in a mumble. He pauses, stirring his coffee. “I lost my mom, too, you know.”

"Oh?" Cecil says. "Where did she go? Or did she leave without a notice? My mom didn’t say anything, she was just… poof! Gone one day without a trace."

"My mom died in a car accident." He pauses, looking down. "She was driving on icy roads."

"Oh," Cecil breathes. "I’m sorry." He reaches to squeeze Carlos’ hand gently.

He sighs. “It— well it doesn’t make me so sad anymore. It happened a while ago.”

Cecil watches Carlos drink the rest of his coffee with his free hand, then lets go of him, feeling awkward. He stirs his own coffee with noisy silverware.

"Anyway," Carlos says. "What were you saying before? About the sleepover?"

Cecil jumps, dropping his spoon. “Oh, right. Well, before we came to the party we asked the birthday girl if her parents could cover up the mirrors, because, well, my mother prophesied that my death would involve a mirror. Better safe than sorry, right?”

"Uh-huh."

"Well, okay like, we asked real nice and they did end up covering the mirrors, but I guess the mom got real pissed off, but I’ll get to that later."

Juanita walks by and fills their coffee back up, and Cecil watches as Carlos starts on adjusting it to his taste.

"Anyway, we get there, and oh gosh, Carlos, I just remembered that this girl had the three _cutest_ table saws I’ve ever seen." Cecil clasps his hands together.

"Table saws?" Carlos asks with a quirk of his brow.

"Yeah, oh they were cute." Cecil says, and Carlos chuckles. "I… digress." He enunciates while trying not to laugh himself.

Cecil tells Carlos about each and every friend at the party, the ones he liked and didn't like so much. Carlos swirls his coffee and finishes his pie, smiling tiredly as he listened.

With animated hands and an animated face, he tells of how the most insufferable girl at the party wouldn't let him and his sister eat the fancy chocolates they brought, because she had set them up as part of a birthday centerpiece that ended up being ignored anyway. A boring story by itself, but through Cecil’s words and voice he gives it life and Carlos finds himself caring a lot about little Cecil and his sister, having wasted saved up money on something the rich kids didn't bat an eyelash at.

"Oh, but the best part," Cecil says, taking a big drink of coffee, and Carlos senses that maybe he’s being sarcastic. "You know what I said before about the mirrors? Well this girl’s mom took me and my sister aside to yell at us because she was under the impression that we were like, bullying her daughter or something."

"How did she come to that conclusion?" Carlos says. His plate is empty but he has taken to dragging his fork through the leftover cherry syrup.

Cecil does something that is like a shrug and a scoff and a sigh all at once. “I don’t know. I think she just wanted to yell at us. Y’know? Like we were really good friends with her daughter.”

Cecil pauses, and when Carlos looks up at him he looks sad.

"We didn’t even do anything." He places his chin in his hand and leans on the table, eyes distant.

"So?" Carlos says, and Cecil blinks. "What’d you do after that?"

"Well, later we went back to the party and we still had fun, but I was really mad the whole night. I just wanted to go to sleep or go home or _something_. I remember the birthday girl, she knew what happened and she was trying to be super nice. When I told her I was tired she told me to go sleep in the guest bed, since it was free."

"Did you?" Carlos asks. Overhead, the radio cracks with static before righting itself again.

"Not at first," Cecil says. "My sister told me she was just being nice and that I shouldn’t take her literally, because I uh, I do that sometimes."

Carlos smiles at him understandingly.

"We tried to sleep on the floor in the living room with everyone else, but no one was being quiet so I just… took my sister into the guest bedroom and we got in the bed. That was also where we found Ryan sleeping, under a desk. They like, hissed at us when we came in but I think it was a friendly sort of hiss?"

Carlos ponders what a friendly hiss might sound like, and strangely, he can imagine it as something he may have heard before. He also takes a minute to remember that Cecil had described Ryan as a ‘sentient potted cactus.’

"I think maybe we were being sort of bratty, but we didn’t really do anything wrong, right?"

"No," Carlos says. "Cecil, why would you think you did something wrong?"

Cecil starts to reply, but stammers.

"I think after being harassed by a grown woman and generally having a bad night you deserved something nice, like, uh, sleeping in a bed."

Cecil laughs softly. “Yeah… I guess so.”

Across the diner, at the door, a bell rings, signaling a leaving patron. The question of what time is was, exactly, starts at the back of Carlos’ mind, but he leaves it be.

"I never really learned to, uh, treat myself I guess. I suppose, even now, I still hesitate to take breaks and to take days off." Cecil says, and he feels hot in his face. "Listen to me, babbling on about all sorts of things that don’t make any sense."

"You’re making sense." Carlos says softly, sweetly.

This late, after countless cups of coffee in a sea-foam diner, after gazing at Carlos across from him and feeling, suddenly, the tiredness that his body had been rejecting, Cecil realizes how badly he needed to hear that from someone, anyone.

"Thank you."

"Did you have a lot of friends in school?" Carlos asks quietly.

"I kind of… I kind of was just friends with my sister’s friends." Cecil says with a shrug.

"Hmm," Carlos mumbles, making patterns on his plate, or at least attempting to. The remnants of a cherry pie didn’t make for the best medium. "I was sort of the same. I had just one friend, and by extension, through them, I guess I had more friends."

Cecil looks at him, and stay quiet for a minute. “Were you out?” He asks, and it comes out sort of quiet. “I mean like, of the closet?”

Carlos puts his fork down and leans his face against a fist propped up on the table. “No,” he says with a sigh. “No. It wasn’t that I— sorry, never mind.”

He tries to laugh off his unfinished sentence, but Cecil looks at him wearing a concerned face and he crumbles.

"It wasn’t that it wasn’t safe for me, I mean, I just had my dad, and he was really nice. He didn’t care, um, when he did find out."

Cecil quirks a brow at him. “So…?”

"So…" Carlos starts, and he laughs awkwardly. "It just that I didn’t know when I was younger. It took a while for me to figure it out myself."

Cecil nods as he listens. Carlos thinks that maybe he was going to say something, and ends up pausing longer than he should have, which is for some reason really funny to the both of them.

They laugh, and there is a vague awareness of it being past two in the morning, maybe later, but the thought doesn’t concern them.

"It took me like, forever." Carlos continues. "I don’t know why. It’s so obvious now how much I like boys; the science was _all_ there. I don’t know how I didn’t know."

"Maybe you needed to do some experiments." Cecil says, smirking, and Carlos snorts.

"Wait— I mean," Cecil stammers. "Like, science experiments." He feels his heart in his throat and smiles awkwardly, wondering why he would say something like that.

Carlos laughs, and Cecil’s frame loosens at that. He breathes.

"Yeah, I should have done gay science experiments, to figure out how gay I was."

Cecil laughs with him, and judging by the glare received from Juanita at the counter, they were being a bit too loud.

"Really though, I didn’t date a lot. Because of, well, you know, _talking to people_. Socialization is not in a scientist’s handbook. But I am glad I’m dating you." He pauses, smiling, and Cecil thinks that his heart will end up out of his mouth if he has to listen to that sweet, earnest tone again. "What about you, Cecil?"

He swallows. “Well, I knew I was gay from early on, and I didn’t have a nice dad, I uh, didn’t have any sort of dad.”

"Oh," Carlos says softly.

Cecil waves his hand in the air, as if to wave it off literally. “Oh well, you know, dads are overrated, right? Especially step-dads.” Cecil looks away, coldly. “Step-dads are just awful.”

"Are you talking about Steve Carls—"

" _No!_ " Cecil says very loudly, and one of the hooded figures sitting at the counter buzzes.

"Cecil, I am going to hypothesize that you _are_ talking about Steve Carlsberg."

Over the radio set in the styrofoam ceiling, a slow tune bleeds out, a single cello drawn back and forth. A minute and a half of a bow against strings. They sit in silence, the tune seemingly random. They sit in silence, not a conscious decision. They sit, silent, until the song ends.

"Well, that was weird." Cecil says with a turn of his mouth.

"Huh." Carlos says. "Right, where were we?"

"We weren’t talking about my brother in law, that’s for sure." Cecil says, taking an awkward drink of coffee.

"Right, so— so why do you hate that guy so much, Cecil?" Carlos continues, ignoring Cecil’s really good attempt at changing the subject.

Cecil glares at a fixed point across the room. “He’s a jerk. Ever since I met him, he’s had no respect for authority, or a sense of responsibility to his family— my family. And he always wears the _ugliest_  shoes.”

"Look who’s talking." Carlos mumbles playfully, sensing his words go right over Cecil’s head.

"And he’s always wanting to, like, change things around here. Things that don’t have any business being changed." Cecil sits back and crosses his arms, face hot from even thinking about Steve Carlsberg.

"But…" Carlos starts. "Change is so exciting, isn’t it?"

Cecil looks at him, and the light catches his eyes in a way that makes his chest hurt. “I don’t know about that, Carlos. I don’t know if change is worth it, what with all the bad it likes to bring.”

"Cecil," Carlos says. "What would be the alternative? A life that is static and dull could never be worth it. You said yourself, the world is dangerous and terrifying."

Cecil only looks at him, mouth slightly ajar.

"Isn’t it also beautiful?"

Cecil looks down at his flower, and nods. He feels all heavy and tired but in spirit, with Carlos there across the booth, he feels so light.

He checks his watch, Carlos’ watch, the watch Carlos gave to him, and smiles sleepily.

"We should head back."

"Why?" Carlos shrugs. "It’s not that late."

"It’s 4AM." He says pointedly.

"Oh." Carlos smiles sheepishly, and Cecil leans across the table to kiss him. 

* * *

Cecil puts the lily in a cleaned out sarsaparilla bottle. Such a pretty, sharp flower, sitting inside an old soda bottle with a cheeky cowboy on the label. He decides that he likes the look of it.

Months later, after black cubes have sunk into the earth, and Cecil and Carlos fill up cardboard boxes with many things, varying in importance, the flower has wilted and dulled. Cecil plucks it from the now dried out bottle and presses it in a scrapbook.

When they move in together, Carlos picks Cecil another flower and buys him a small glass vase. When that one wilts, the head, too, is pressed in a book filled with pictures pasted onto yellow paper.

Sometimes the flowers are different, but there is always one on the table, sitting in water until it dries up, then pressed for keepsaking.

When the doors are all gone, and all they have left is their phones and voices, Cecil goes to Mission Grove Park by himself. In a cool morning, when the sunlight has just lifted above a robin egg sky, he kneels in a garden.

Very carefully, he breaks the stem with his fingers and lifts a sharp-petaled lily to his nose.

" _Remembrance_ ," he whispers into the dusty air, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just going to be a oneshot, but it got a little too long.


End file.
